Panic Attack
by saiki.kensuke.yuuta
Summary: Darkfic about Yuki. Small hints of a YukixShuichi pairing. Please read and review. Same fic, original format can be found on fictionpress. I rewrote this story a small bit for this pairing specifically. Thought it might be interesting.


Author's Note: I request that no one steal my work nor copy off it. **Reviews and feedback will be greatly appreciated!**

Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation or any of its characters.

Warnings: Angst and drama, small hint of shonenai but just barely.

  
Pairing: Yuki-centric mostly, with a very small hint of a YukixShuichi pairing.

  
Fic Note: One shot, darkfic. For a small fact on how this story came to be, please read my closing note at the very bottom of this fic. This is a last minute rewrite of an original story in order to match this fandom.

**Panic Attack**

A young man was in a hunched over position, huddled in the darkest corner of his room. His breathing was completely panicked, eyes opened wide. Papers were scattered all around him, his senses were heightened and he was currently oversensitive to anything-even the slightest sound could trigger more cause for fear and panic. He was frustrated. For some reason, the words he had wanted to form earlier that day just wouldn't take form. He had nothing to write about anymore. The inspiration he had found earlier that morning had just slipped his mind, and no matter how frantically he tried to remember, it was all in vain.

He probably looked like the biggest royal mess in the world. Blond hair with brown roots looking as if he had just gotten out of bed, a dark button-up shirt, and black pants. His face was probably completely pale, and his eyes were definetly bloodshot in part due to lack of sleep.

He shivered, feeling the cold of his dark room. Even if his room was well lit, it would still be cold-both because of the broken heater that only produced the coldest of airs, and because of the way the room was set up. The room was set up to look like an office. Comfortable to the writer on most days except on days like today where it felt like prison.

All around him were ripped and smudged papers, broken pens and pencils-that he had snapped out of anger, shards of a broken coffee cup-that he had thrown at the wall, and smashed cigarettes he would've never used anyway because he didn't smoke. He just had them for the sake of having them around. A picture of himself with some nameless friends was shattered on the ground, their smiles being distorted by the broken glass.

He was in complete disbelief. He couldn't believe that he couldn't remember what he had wanted to write. He was scared because everything was riding on this moment, riding on his ability to spit out just a few wise words. Just a few. The people in the cold office, of the company he had been in to make his big break, had only asked him to simply create a small sample that they could read and then later provide criticism. He had to do this because he needed the money so badly. He not only needed the money, but he needed the approval of his peers far more. Writing his mind, speaking for his inner muse was his entire life. They had asked him to send them manuscripts in small dosages. Almost like previews to the movie. Small parts of the big picture. Everything had gone fine and well, until today.

He had run into this kind of problem before in his writing, and he was acting then much like he was now. He had recieved pills and a psychiatrist for his problem, but that remedy didn't seem to be quite working today. Today was the last day he could write out the last chapter of the story he had wanted to debut into society. He wished for nothing more than to have people worldwide read his novels and connect with him, but today he had failed to finish the final necessary component. Now he felt like he was losing his senses.

He puffed short, quick breaths constantly-fearing that if he stopped breathing for even a single beat he would go completely insane or just suffocate. He was scared out of his mind, but of what he didn't quite understand. Only hindsight would be able to tell him, and by the time he gained that hindsight it would be completely useless to him.

His body began to shake uncontrollably as he mind randomly wandered to the subject of death. Thoughts ran through his mind that made his blood run cold. He felt like he was in some kind of horror flick, himself being the very star horror of the film. He started scraping at his shirt, close to his neck, not caring if his mad scraping tore skin. He crawled a few inches to reach his bed and gripped the metal on the side of the bed tightly, his knuckles turning white, trying to make some kind of comfort for himself.

The thought of death was chilling. He felt tears sting his eyes as he contemplated being on a deathbed, taking his last breath. Was there a Heaven? What good are jobs and possessions? Would he feel his body being buried? Did the soul only leave the body after decay, after the body became ashes?

Trying to leave these depressing thoughts, his iron grip left the metal of the bed and he started scratching at his face and pulling out hairs. His mind wandered, contemplating and criticizing himself, not out of vanity but out of sheer disgust. He had gone through so many personal changes all his life. He had hung out with so many different kinds of people, he was confusing all his personas. Trying to be neutral with everyone was not an easy task, in fact an impossible task, but he had tried to take it on anyway, only to miserably fail later. In hindsight, he knew that now. What good was hindsight, though, when there was no mechanism to bring back the past-as well as allowing him to keep his memories of the lessons learned-to let him try and rewrite his history and in the process change his future?

He didn't know who he was anymore. He loved acting from the moment he was a child. This habit seemed to grow on him in his older years, causing himself to get so confused with who he was and his personalities. Everyday he was acting. During his high school years he made a habit of roleplaying with random people on roleplay sites, and lie to them without realizing he was lying. He would lie about who he was and how old he was and where he lived, but truly he was only acting. He just didn't know how to seperate the two. He was working harder and with more soul than most of today's actors owned. He should just get an agent and win an Oscar, for crying out loud. He never would, though. He'd never have the gall to even bother trying.

He had no friends, no family to turn to. All too far away for him to hold. He let the tears flow freely now, as he no longer had the energy to hold them back.

He was singing now, and frantically. He was trying so hard to get a grip on himself. Usually a bit of singing or humming to himself would calm him down, but he seemed to be making his own situation far worse. He was crawling on the floor again, and eventually made himself get up to face a mirror. He looked into that mirror, staring at that scared and tear-stained face that could be nobody but himself. A thought entered his mind that he should probably consider sleeping, as he saw the clock in the mirror blare behind of him an angry 2:51am, but he just couldn't sleep; not at this rate.

The sorry face staring back at him looked so tired and so sad. He felt himself smile. He felt the already deep pit in his stomach grow. He felt so sick. He was losing it and he knew. He was feeling so naseated. The smile in the mirror looked so _happy_, so _genuine_. Of course it was. He had been practicing every single day since the end of grade school. He had been practicing so long now, he no longer counted the passing years. He found that he could smile for anything. After all, he was an actor. Even with a blade to his neck, he found that he could still give a credible smile, even if he was so petrified he could die of fear.

He was losing control. He stared at his reflection for a few more minutes, the silence of the room deafening and the clicking of one of his clocks grating on his ears. He smashed the mirror in, trying to rid his vision of the mocking face that seemed to be embedded into the glass. He was so sick of these emotions, so _sick _and _tired_.

He barely felt his body shake with laughter as warm blood oozed down his hand down to his white floor, marring the carpet with his natural red, joining the reflecting glass shards below. He was being crazy and he knew.

His phone started ringing, practically sending him on a one-way train to Heaven. He crawled as fast as he could, then slammed his hand on the phone, forcing it to fall off of the night stand before taking a deep breath, then answering.

"Hello...?" whose voice was that? Was it his?

On most days he would have immediately recognized his pink-haired lover on the other side, but today it took him a short while before he realized who it was. "Yuki-kun, how are you?" came the friendly voice laced with happiness.

"Fine."

His mind could barely comprehend or even register the conversation after that. Something about going out somewhere on some kind of date. He could've cared less at the moment.

He felt himself smile at something his lover said. It was an eerie feeling, he wasn't sure how genuine that smile was. In fact, at the moment he was afraid of it. He barely heard his voice as he gave positive responses to the boy's questions. His mind could barely register his own laugh. It sounded so unnatural.

On regular days, he would have been more than happy to deal with his lover. But in this case, he was thinking too loud. He was praying too hard. _"Someone save my soul!" _his mind was shouting, _"Someone save my soul, please!"_

They had agreed on a date, time, and place. Yuki was more than happy to hang up the phone. He would deal with Shuichi later. Somehow, the strange emotions in him were dying down a bit, but his mind was still shouting their pleas for help.

No one heard him. No one would ever hear him. Drowned out were his pleas and cries. That was all okay though. He was allowed to fool the world, even his lover with his tough exterior-covering his sensitive persona. There was no rule against fooling the people around you in order to protect oneself.

No one had to care. No one would have to know...

_"Someone save me!"_

_"Someone save my soul...!"_

OWARI

Saiki.Kensuke.Yuuta: At first, I was going to put this on fictionpress only because I couldn't think of any anime this could go under, but I decided this may be the best place for it. The same fiction but without the whole Yuki and Shuichi thing going on has also been uploaded to fictionpress so that I could see feedback and opinions from both places. Hope you enjoyed it! It remains a one-shot. Read and review please!


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